Waking Dreams
by Settiai
Summary: The truth, the lies, the in-between / the hate, the love, the waking dream.


**Present…**

Larimer Finch was wrenched back into consciousness as he hit the water. It was still early enough in the spring for it to be freezing cold. He was dizzy and disoriented, his lungs already starting to ache from lack of air. He instinctively tried to breathe, gagging as his mouth filled with water. There was a slight pressure around his ankles and wrists, presumably ropes, keeping him from pushing himself back toward the surface.

What had happened? The last thing Finch remembered was sitting in his rooms, studying the small amount of evidence they had managed to gather at the most recent murder scene. There had been a sound behind him, a quiet scraping that he normally wouldn't have even noticed. He had started to turn around, and then there had been a flash of movement, a yell, and then . . . and then . . .

. . . and then he had woken up to find himself in his current predicament.

Finch's lungs were burning. He couldn't think clearly, and he could see tendrils of darkness at the edge of his vision. The icy water made him feel numb, and the urge to struggle was fading. A distant voice in his head shouted at him to keep fighting, to try to force himself back to the surface, but it was growing fainter and fainter with every passing moment.

As the already dim light—was it the moon lighting up the water?—grew dimmer, a sign of his quickly fading vision, Finch couldn't help but think maybe it would have been better if he'd never woken back up in the first place. There wasn't anything he could do.

He was distantly away of a splash coming from somewhere nearby. Then two arms suddenly wrapped around his chest, and the next thing he knew he was gasping in the cool night air. Finch instantly started coughing up water, his lungs erupting in flames of pain.

"—can you hear me? Damn it, Finch, say something!"

Finch's mind still felt muddled, but he was aware enough to recognize the voice that was speaking to him. "Jared?" he asked weakly, almost sinking under the water again as a coughing fit shook his body. Only Stone's firm grip on him kept him afloat.

Stone grunted; unless Finch was mistaken, there was more than a hint of relief in the sound. "Who else would it be?"

The world faded for a second, light and sounds blurring together. The next thing Finch knew, he was being dragged up onto the bank. There was a slight tug at his arms as Stone cut the ropes, and Finch felt his hands fall free. The one around his ankles followed a second or two later.

"What happened?" Finch asked weakly, his voice unsteady even to his own ears. Now that he was out of the water, the cold felt even more oppressive. He didn't even attempt to hide his shivering.

Stone shrugged before helping pull Finch to his feet. "Chipper saw them leaving town with you and sounded the alarm. I was hoping you could tell me more," the marshal said, "but judging by the size of that bump on your head, I doubt that's going to happen."

Finch blinked and reached up to tentatively touch the side of his head. He hadn't even noticed until Stone had mentioned it, but it was throbbing. When he brought his hand away, it was red with blood. "Oh," he said weakly. "That isn't good."

"You don't say," Stone said, the dryness of his voice contrasting with the worry in his eyes. "Come on, let's get you back to town so the doc can take a look at you."

As Stone pulled him forward, Finch stumbled. As much as it grated, he leaned against Stone and let the marshal support most of his weight. He was shivering so hard that it took him a few seconds to realize that Stone was probably just as cold as he was. The marshal was just doing a better job at hiding it than he was.

That thought was pushed aside as another coughing fit hit him. Finch's legs buckled, and only Stone's grip kept him from falling straight to the ground. As it was, he only fell part of the way; he was gently lowered the rest of it.

Finch was vaguely aware of Stone saying his name and what sounded like cursing, though he couldn't hear the words clearly enough to tell. Stone sounded as if he was speaking from far away. The shadows at the edges of Finch's vision came flooding back, and for a moment Finch thought he heard a roaring sound before the world faded entirely to black.

* * *

**Three days earlier…**

Finch managed to keep his face composed until he had stepped out of the cabin and walked around the corner out of sight. As soon as he was certain no one could see him, he gasped for breath, eagerly gulping in fresh air as he leaned against the cabin's wall.

He was still trying to compose himself a few seconds later when Marshal Stone walked around the corner.

"Thought so," Stone said, his voice matter-of-fact. Despite his tone, there was a sympathetic look on his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. He handed it to Finch. "Surprised you lasted this long."

Finch gratefully accepted the flask, taking a deep swallow of the whisky inside. He grimaced as it burned his throat. Then he straightened up, handing it back to Stone. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Stone raised an eyebrow, but he remained silent as he took the flask back.

Taking in another steadying breath, Finch moved away from the cabin and started back in the direction he'd come. "I'd say the body's been there approximately a week, ten days at the very most," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. He didn't quite succeed. "I won't know anything more until I have a chance to examine it."

"Doing it here?" Stone asked. He reached out and gave Finch's arm a reassuring pat as they stepped in front of the cabin door.

Finch grimaced. "Considering the state of the corpse, it would make things much simpler."

Nodding, Stone waved for Chipper to come over. The younger man had been standing near the horses; he'd taken one look inside the cabin and promptly rushed out to vomit, and they'd both taken pity on him.

"Need me to do something?" Chipper asked. His face was still a little pale, and he didn't look very happy as he glanced at the cabin. Even though they were standing outside, the smell of decomposing flesh was still present.

"I need you to ride back to town," Stone replied. "Pick up some things for Finch here."

Chipper nodded perhaps a little too eagerly, not that Finch would ever call him on it. "I can do that, no problem," he said. "What can I get for you, Mr. Finch?"

"Katie, for one thing," Finch said slowly, thinking. "I should have a bag sitting on my desk. Ask her to look through it and make certain we have everything we need for an autopsy."

Giving them one more brisk nod, Chipper turned and started in the direction of the horses.

Stone coughed. "The smell."

Finch grimaced. "She would most likely appreciate some warning, wouldn't she?" he asked tiredly. He raised his voice. "Chipper, one more thing!"

Chipper glanced back at them.

"Tell Katie about the state of the body," Finch said. "She should be able to bring some supplies to make the stench more bearable while we're working."

* * *

**Present…**

Finch groaned as he slowly began to wake up once again.

There was a rustling sound nearby, and a few seconds later Finch felt someone's hand on his face. Not quite awake, he batted weakly at it.

"It's just me," Katie said tiredly. "The doctor had to go see to a birth an hour or two outside of town. They think it's twins, and the midwife needed help."

Awareness came flooding back, and Finch slowly forced his eyes open. He was in his room, and the faint light streaming from behind the blinds in his window suggested that several hours had passed since his impromptu swim in the river. "What happened?" he asked, frowning at how raspy his voice sounded.

Katie apparently felt the same way, as she immediately grabbed a glass of water that was sitting on the small table beside his bed. Gently lifting his head, she put the glass to his mouth and let him take a few shallow swallows before pulling it away again. "Better?" she asked.

"Yes," Finch said, grimacing when his voice didn't sound much better than before. "Now, what happened?"

Katie frowned, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "How much do you remember?"

Finch gave her a half-hearted shrug. "Someone caught me by surprise. I remember Stone dragging me out of the river before I drowned, but that's about it."

"Not much more to it than that," Katie said. "The marshal figured out that it was the Harkin brothers. He's got a couple of men together and they've gone out after them."

He stared at her for a moment, confused. "The Harkin brothers?" he repeated. "Do I even know them?"

She shook her head. "They live about half a day's ride from here and don't like coming into town unless they have to. It turns out one of them has been trying to court the Widow Johnson, probably hoping for the money and land her husband left behind. She turned him down and—well, you saw what happened."

Finch grimaced, his mind flashing back to the autopsy he and Katie had done just a few days earlier. "How did he figure it out? We couldn't find much in the way of evidence at her cabin."

"Oh, the marshal has his ways," Katie replied.

Finch raised an eyebrow.

Katie reached over to pat him on the shoulder. "He doesn't take attempted murder very lightly, especially when it's a friend who almost ends up killed."

Finch closed his eyes. "How many people did he threaten?" he asked, not quite certain he wanted to know the answer.

In the doorway, someone cleared their throat pointedly. It was a very familiar sound.

Finch's eyes shot open, and he immediately looked in that direction.

"I didn't threaten anyone, I'll have you know," Stone said, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I merely spread the word that I was looking for some answers, and if anyone knew anything it might be in their best interest to come talk to me."

Finch's mouth twitched, despite his best efforts not to react.

Katie made a clucking noise, deep in her throat, as she ran her eyes over the marshal. There was a bloody cut on the side of his face, and he was obviously favoring his leg. "I'm going to get some bandages," she said, shaking her head. "Both of you better be in here when I get back, or I'm going to finish what the Harkins started."

Stone chuckled, stepping out of the way so that she could brush past him. Then he glanced at Finch, his face growing more serious.

"How are you doing?"

Finch carefully managed to prop himself up into a half-sitting position, the world only spinning around him a little bit. "I'll be fine," he said. Then he paused. "Wait, I thought Katie said the Harkins lived half a day's ride from town. How are you back so soon?"

A hint of something that looked suspiciously like worry flashed in Stone's eyes, so quickly that Finch thought he might have imagined it.

"I road out yesterday," Stone said slowly. "I'm guessing you haven't been awake long?"

Finch grimaced. "I hadn't realized I was out for that long."

Stone walked over and dropped down into a chair beside Finch's bed. "It was a bad bump on the head," he said, obviously trying to keep his voice casual and not quite succeeding. "Katie thought there was a chance you might not wake up."

Finch flinched. He hadn't seen too many head injuries over the years, but there had been a few memorable ones.

After a few seconds, he realized that Stone was eyeing him in a way that suggested he was about to get up and go looking for Katie.

"I'll be fine," Finch said, half-hearted raising his free hand in order to make a gesture. "I just hadn't realized it was quite so serious."

For a moment, it looked as if Stone was about to say something. Then he shook his head and reached over to push Finch back down onto the bed. He was surprisingly gentle about it.

"Get some rest, Finch," Stone said. "You look like you need it."

Finch couldn't really argue with that, considering how drained he felt. Still, part of him resisted simply giving it without even a token argument. "You're one to talk."

Stone snorted. "Don't I know it," he grumbled.

Finch's mouth twitched again. Then he closed his eyes.

The room was silent, except for the sound of his and Stone's quiet breathing.

After a minute or two had passed, he felt a hint of pressure on his shoulder, as if someone was resting their hand on it. It disappeared after just a moment, but it was enough to convince Finch to stop resisting and let his body get the rest it so obviously wanted.

He thought that he heard a chuckle as he was drifting off to sleep. It might have just been his imagination, but for some reason Finch didn't think that was the case.


End file.
